


The Smell of Pine Trees and Engine Grease

by ZoeBug



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Drabble, M/M, OT3 Week, Reincarnation, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeBug/pseuds/ZoeBug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I woke from the dream again this morning.</p><p>I smelled pine trees and engine grease and the feeling of slick leather beneath my fingertips lingered when I opened my eyes.</p><p>-- </p><p>Written for OT3 Week Day 1: Eren/Jean/Marco - Dreams</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smell of Pine Trees and Engine Grease

**Author's Note:**

> Written for OT3 Week, Day 1: Jean/Eren/Marco - Dreams
> 
> Just a (late) little drabble for OT3 Week. I can't seem to get off this doomed reincarnation thing lately. Oh well, enjoy more sadness.

I woke from the dream again this morning.

I smelled pine trees and engine grease and the feeling of slick leather beneath my fingertips lingered when I opened my eyes.

I have that dream a lot, lately.

I don’t know why that dream comes with me into my kitchen and out my front door. The handle of my suitcase feels familiar as I hand it to the taxi driver to load into the trunk.

My driver smells like pine trees and deep forest even though as we draw nearer to the airport the air gets thicker and thicker with smog.

He looks at me through the rearview mirror, smiling, and I notice his eyes are very green.

“You look familiar,” he says. “Have I driven you before?”

Strange, since the dark easy waves of his hair are just that. Familiar.

“Just one of those faces,” I reply. “I get that a lot.”

He smiles again and then frowns. His bright, bright eyes flick between the road and the mirror. He pulls his right hand off the wheel and flexes it.

“Hey,” he says as he looks at me again. “Be careful today.”

I laugh but he continues with a serious frown. The knot between his eyebrows is something I somehow know. My smile fades.

“I know it sounds dumb but my hand always starts hurting when something bad’s gonna happen. It’s just- just a thing that- You seem like a nice guy, is all. Just be careful, okay?”

I tip him well when we get to the airport and haul my suitcase into the building. I smell pine needles again when he hands it to me.

I glance back to see him gravely gazing after me, the fingers of his left hand rubbing at his right palm as though it aches.

 

The barista at the Starbucks in the airport smells like leather and engine grease and I swallow thickly when I catch it. It’s not unpleasant. Like a faraway voice calling to you.

No one else seems to notice.

His dyed hair is showing its roots but for some reason it’s terribly endearing. Poor guy probably has been working the graveyard shift on. His eyes are tired but he gives me a weary smile when I order and doesn’t misspell my name on the cup like everyone else.

Strange, though, I don’t remember telling it to him.

He grabs my hand as I turn to leave and hot coffee sloshes over both our hands. He looks startled when I turn to him.

I smell leather.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“It’s all right,” I reply and give him a smile and stuff a five dollar bill in the tip jar.

I start to walk away with my suitcase in one hand and coffee in the other when I notice a number on the napkin wrapped around my cup.

I grin at it and I turn glance back but it flickers out when I see him staring after me.

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

They look afraid and sad and say _don’t go_ and I smell ashes.

That’s new.

 

I think about my dream when the plane starts rattling. And again when the pilot comes on over the speakers.

And again when the oxygen masks drop from the ceiling.

And again when the woman behind me starts praying and again when the mother in front of me clutches her child to her chest and tells him she loves him. And again. And again.

I think of my taxi driver with his bright eyes and aching hand. I think of my barista with his tired smile and reaching fingers.

I don’t know why.

I smell trees and engine grease when I close my eyes. And I see two pairs of eyes and feel two pairs of hands and the cool slide of leather.

And I hear a voice in each of my ears― _We love you, we miss you. Maybe next time―_ before there is nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> [fanfic/podfic blog](http://zoe-bug.tumblr.com/) | [personal](http://xiexiecaptain.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/xiexiecaptain)


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